


Voulez-vous Danser Avec Moi?

by RayearthHikaru



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed: Unity, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Indecision, Jealousy, Kissing, Love, Mild Blood, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content, confused feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayearthHikaru/pseuds/RayearthHikaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strong. Tough. Clever. Agile.</p><p>This is how Arno Dorian sees you; one of the most skilled Assassins into the French brotherhood, a loyal friend and companion, someone who would never show a single weakness in battle as in everyday life.</p><p>What he doesn't really know is how fragile, weak and broken you can actually be because of your tormented heart, completely torn for the strong feelings you have towards a man who's already linked to another woman from a lifetime.</p><p>That man is him.</p><p>Only when a simple, innocent moment of weakness with the love of his life puts your own safety in danger, Arno understands that he needs to choose between love and duties once and for all, realizing how lost he would be if you were to die, worse yet if by his own hand accidentally.</p><p>And perhaps, even how fond of you he is. More than he himself believed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another headcanon, which stayed stuck into my mind for quite a long time.
> 
> Again, a lof of things will most likely be totally wrong once the game is released, but since we have to wait for another month, I decided to write it down anyway.
> 
> This story might include some spoilers, nothing really related to the main story of Unity, but still.
> 
>  **Translations** :
> 
>  _Dame_ = Lady  
>  _Merde_ = Shit  
>  _Oui, Monsieur_ = Yes, Sir  
>  _Merci beaucoup_ = Thank you very much  
>  _Trés bien_ = Very well  
>  _Non_ = No

Staring at your own image reflected into the big mirror in your room, you watch your uncommon attire with amazement and ewilderment. Such a bulky dress isn't really part of your standard wardrobe, not when you are an Assassin and thus used to wear a pair of comfortable pants and shirts instead.

You're about to act like a fine _dame_ in disguise for a contract however, Arno Victor Dorian being your partner for the night.  
Your target is a Templar, noble man with a huge weakness for high class masquerades and showy celebrations. Arno arrived at your door with a fresh new dress for you to wear and an elegant uniform for himself, developing a plan and discussing for hours about the proper strategy to adopt in order to reach and end your victim in the most unobtrusive way.  
  
The Assassin certainly has tastes for dresses, you'll give him that; skin generously exposed for the large shoulders, sleeves falling down like gloves and covering your limbs from the upper arms to the back of your hands, the corset perfectly secured with a set of white intertwined laces which visibly outlines your front curves quite generously. The gown is long and heavy, but you're still able to walk and stand without too many troubles. The fabric is soft, adorned with intricated patterns and elaborated stitchings.

Somehow Arno even guessed your favourite colors and tastes in clothing, avoiding horrible curly wigs and rounded gowns that would surely make you look like a chubby cream puff.

You walk to the entrance of the _Café Théâtre_ once you've hidden the very last of your hidden weapons on your body, an impatient Arno is waiting for you next to a carriage, arms folded to his chest and eyebrows knitted in boredom.

“You took your time,” he states, back leaning over the wooden vehicle.

He looks simply outstanding. The standard blue robes he usually wears are replaced by a bunch of elegant clothes, his handsome face is finally in all its glory and free from the common Assassin hood, that old scar -still slightly red and pronounced- running on his nose bridge and left cheekbone. Rough stubble all along his chin, jawline and above his lips, dark brown hair tied in his usual ponytail. A few locks are gently falling around his visage, being way too short to stay firm on the back of his head.

“Shut up, you. Try to wear a dress like this and we'll talk about it,” you retort, a smug grin pulling the corners of your mouth upward.

“I don't think it would suit me,” he points out, his own smirk sending electric shocks to your knees. “But I can't say the same for you.”

Arno scans your figure from head to toe with a concentrated expression, a soft shade of red heating up your cheeks under his scrutiny.

“How do I look?” You ask then, hand on hip and weight shifted on one leg.

“You'll need to work a bit on your posture, but apart from that you're perfect.”

“Oh, God,” you snort. “Don't tell me I have to keep a book on my head until we arrive.”

He chuckles. “Not one book. Two.”

"You're kidding, right?"

"Of course I am."

“Phew.”

“Just follow my lead and don't attract attention.”

“Aw. You are such a killjoy, Arno," arm dropping on your side dramatically. "Besides, I think you should have thought about that before giving me this dress.”

Too many hungry men tend to be quite vulnerable to a woman's charm, especially when she's wearing a showy dress like the one you're exhibiting tonight. 

“You wouldn't want to go there with your robes, would you?”

Sighing, "Nay, indeed.”

Arno takes a step forward, his taller form now towering over you. Whenever this man stands a few inches away from your body the air runs out from your lungs as if it was sucked away. You are considered one of the ablest Assassins into the French brotherhood, you have a reputation to preserve and a self control to maintain intact no matter what.  
  
Feelings or not.

“Do you remember the plan we discussed?” He inquires, hands crossing behind his back. 

“ _Oui, Monsieur_.”

“Good.”

Lifting his arm gallantly for you to take it, Arno opens the carriage door to guide you inside. Before getting in, however, you grab the other side of the dress with your free hand, showing him a refined reverence widening the long skirt in the process.

“ _Merci beaucoup_.” 

He returns your curtsey with a satisfied smile. “Someone actually did their homework, today.”

“Why. Doubted me, Dorian?”

“ _Non_.”

The sound of a solid object tapping on the wooden surface of the carriage brings you back to reality, right where you are supposed to stay with your feet firmly on the ground. Arno turns to the person who just took the reins in one hand, using the end of his heavy axe to knock three times on the vehicle and interrupt your prolonged chitchat.

One of your closest brothers, _Axe_ precisely. Just how you all like to call him by now.

“You ready, _lovebirds_?" 

_Oh... right._

The plan Arno explained to you in detail for the entire day includes an alleged marriage bond between him and you, properly renamed _Antoine Dupont_ and _Francine Delacour_ for the occasion. This will only be a facade among the guests of honor during the detection of your target, but a part of you wishes that falsity was at least a bit true.

You simply smile. “More than ready, _coachman_.”

Axe puts his weapon back it its supportive belt and winks at you from under his hood. “ _Trés bien_.” 

Once you're finally settled on the comfortable seat in the cab, Arno jumps in at your side and closes the door right after. The carriage joilts as soon as Axe incites the horses shaking the reins with a loud snarl, your hideout left behind as the three of you gallop away along the streets of Paris. 

Occasionally you and Arno exchange some glances of approval and encouragement, when you're not too busy keeping your eyes glued to the window and on the menacing, revolutionary black smokes which raise from behind the buildings.  
You're nervous like never before, truth to be told... wondering if you are really able to appear like a believable wife when all your heart desires is this man to be yours more than anything in the world. A man sentimentally involved with another woman, someone he has known for an entire life. 

And just to complicate things even further, a bloody Templar.

“You should wear a dress more often, you look beautiful tonight.”

Right when you thought your heart couldn't ache more than that, Arno proves otherwise with his sudden exposure.

“Woah there,” you turn to him with a mischievous expression, hopefully hiding your true emotions from his watchful eye. “Into your role already, _Antoine_?”

“I'm serious.”

Here we go again, trying to keep your heart as steady as possible whilst your guts are painfully twisted in your stomach.

“Well thank you, Arno. You look quite ~~handsome~~ good yourself.”

You will definitely end up emotionally destroyed at some point, no doubt about it.

Not that you'll let him notice, that for sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long time, more than a whole year to be precise. I apologize for the tremendous waiting babes, life has been (and still is) quite difficult and prevented me from writing literally until recently.
> 
> In my defense, at least, I can say I couldn't play AC Unity until October 2015. I practically got that and Syndicate (holy crap I love that game!!) almost at the same time and since I started this story before the final game release in 2014 I thought it was better to wait for a bit and be able to finally write Arno fully in character. It took me a bit, but inspiration finally hit me again and I managed to write more. My biggest mistake was to immediatly publish a story as soon as the first chapter was done, but from now on I'll definitely wait for my upcoming stories to have a least half of the planned chapters before posting them. Knowing that I have an abandoned story while you girls keep asking for it makes me feel terribly guilty and I stress myself too much over it.
> 
> Now, I honestly don't know if/when I'll be able to finish this one. I actually have a few ideas and the overall thing shouldn't be too long, but let's say at the moment I am more into Syndicate and Jacob Frye, thus I am mentally planning a long story about him and this new game (plus various oneshots eventually). Unity honestly disappointed me if I can be honest, the story is too boring for my tastes and even the side missions lost their appeal in the end. Still, I love the design and like Arno so I'll definitely complete this little work I started.
> 
> With that said I hope you will enjoy this new chapter. I modified the previous one a bit if you want to read it again, please remember that English is not my native language and I've got no beta.

Your jaw almost drops when your eyes scan the large room full of pompous nobles and endless tables set with food and drinks among the most expensive. For a moment you feel amazed, excited even to be part of such a soirée for the very first time in your life.

But then you mentally slap yourself remembering all those poor souls left forgotten, ill or dead in the streets of Paris. These well dressed and adorned people eat and drink and dance and laugh, heedless of the bloody Revolution outside that is devouring the population. That thought alone is more than enough to immediately make you feel sick of this luxurious shiny place crowded with rich bastards.

……Those high cakes and chocolate puddings certainly look delicious, though.

“Be ready, as soon as we detect our target we need to act.”

Arno’s voice immediately drives you away from the tantalizing sweets in front of you, his lips incredibly close to your ear keeping your conversation away from random eavesdroppers.

“Are you hungry?”

You can feel it, the mockery in his voice when those perfect lips curve up in a smirk a few inches away from your cheek. “And here I thought you were ready to bare your blades for a precise killing. Your legs are wobbling just at the sight of that cake.”

You don’t even know how you managed to wipe away your forming blushing. “Oh, shut up Arno! Aren’t you the one who literally swallows entire cakes during your missions?”

“Only because I know they would be wasted. And I’m not that voracious!”

“So kind of you, poor cakes. And yes, you are.”

His chuckle is sharp, stabbing you right into the guts. “You don’t seem particularly against that when I collect a few slices and invite you to my snacks.”

You stick out your tongue like an offended child, getting another amused snicker as the two of you keep walking arm in arm in the center of the ballroom. You study your surroundings taking a quick look around, memorizing every detail from the smallest decoration to the most eye-catching curtain in the area.

“Do you see him?” You ask your partner, checking every distinct man into the salon.

“Not yet,” he answers calmly. “He will show up, eventually. Something to drink while we wait for our special guest?”

You give him a curious look. “Ah, so that’s what you’re really after.”

“We need to mingle with this crowd or they’ll all think we are out of place,” he explains with a soft smile.

“Ah, right. You don’t really care about the wine.”

“Cheeky.”

You laugh to yourself as he slowly loosens his arm and lets your own limb drop along your side, brushing your hand in a way that makes your stomach flip before leaving you there, all nervous and shaky like a pathetic little girl. The power this man has on you is overwhelming, yet you hate yourself for feeling in such a way in the least appropriate moments.

You need to concentrate now, put your unstoppable emotions in a remote corner of your brain and complete this contract as soon as possible. The thought of being alone in your room again and out of the bulky dress you are wearing is a bit comforting, you can already smell the sickening wealth all around you, which completely replaces the initial amazement.

With the corner of your eye you spot a man courageously walking towards your figure, your irritation grows dramatically when he stops next to you, clearing his throat before speaking and invading your personal space.

“ _Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle_. ”

You shift your gaze from the polished floor to the noble man who just approached you, his clothes are almost blinding due to the golden fabrics and shiny buttons, his long black hair perfectly combed back and tied in a gaudy ponytail. The way his dark eyes inspect your form certainly does not bode well, but you smile nonetheless to maintain an appropriate attitude and kindly greet the nuisance kicking your stinging anger aside.

“ _Oui_?”

“I couldn’t help but wonder why a splendid creature such as yourself is standing all alone in the middle of the ballroom.”

 _Ugh_.

“Perhaps the Lady might grant me the honor of a dance?”

His right hand is outstretched in front of you, the other hidden behind his back as he bows slightly.  
Did he just glance at your cleavage or are you imagining things?

You need to bite your tongue. “Oh, I’m flattered _monsieur_. Unfortunately I came here with my husband, so I am forced to refuse your gentle offer.”

“Oh, really? And where is he now, mh?”

This isn’t even remotely good.

“There’s no need to be shy, _ma chèrie_. I promise I won’t bite.”

You inhale deeply when his fingers delicately lift your hand, wet lips brushing on the back of it with languid interest.

“You have the most beautiful eyes I ever seen.”

For a very short moment you literally curse Arno for leaving you exposed and vulnerable for all the hungry nobles ready to stick their filthy hands on every appetizing woman in the room. Your wrath, however, turns into pure relief when a pair of wine glasses appears between you and the insistent man, that warm and well known presence back at your side after what felt like an eternity.

“Sorry for making you wait, _mon amour_. A desperate lady invited me to dance and she didn’t want to let me go. It’s a fad around here, apparently. ”

Your noble suitor becomes rigid in no time, Arno’s sharp look pierces him like a knife and the poor man nervously licks his lips starting fidgeting with his now shaky hands.

“Oh-I… my apologies, _monsieur_. I had no idea she was-”

“She is.”

Your own breath is cut off then and there. Arno’s irritation seems too much real, so real that he almost sounded like a jealous lover indeed. But, the plan the two of you discussed at the _Café Théâtre_ was quite clear and really left no room for doubt, emptiness washes over your heart and painfully squeezes it when you realize he’s simply playing the role arranged beforehand.

_'He’s just pretending.'_

The noble man rapidly steps aside muttering a bunch of apologies, his tailcoat frantically swings as he disappears into the crowd with long and quick strides.  
  
“I leave you alone for five minutes and I find you in the company of another man. I should be offended,” he jokes, offering you one of the wine glasses he’s still holding.

You hesitantly close your fingers around the cold stem, avoiding eye contact for your own sake. “It’s not my fault. I told you this dress would draw unwanted attention.”

“It’s not only your dress, _mon amie_. Any man would easily fall at your feet.”

A deep sigh escapes your lips. “My, thank you Arno. If you’re trying to embarrass me and make me blush like an idiot, then congratulations; you’re succeeding.”

You can’t help but smile when you hear him laugh again. Arno admitted many times, with no shame nor regrets, to feel completely at ease and free to behave like himself in your pleasant company. Sometimes you could just be a simple replacement, an escape the Assassin requires during his lonely moments away from the woman his soul is linked to. Other times you are exactly what he needs for a good distraction, may it be a deep literary meeting or a simple chat to free his mind and let it all out.

You are always there for him no matter what, even if your own heart gets wounded more and more being you fully aware of the line you cannot cross.

“Thank you by the way,” you continue, finally sipping your slightly bitter wine. “He stared at my tits, that pig.”

“Judgind by the look on your face I thought you were about to cut his throat.”

“Oh trust me, my hidden knives were tingling.”

His left hand gently brushes along your back. “Aren’t you bloodthirsty now?”

You try all your best to ignore the excitement his touch is giving you. “Is that a problem? It’s not like we came here for a tour. Speaking of, can you see our target at all? Everything seems quite stable in here.”

Arno shakes his head. “No. He’s probably plotting some diabolical plan in the shadows.”

Placing your half empty glass back in his hands, “Hopefully he won’t spend the entire night secluded, or we’ll need to figure out another plan.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks suspiciously. “Relax, you’re a nervous wreck tonight.”

 _Merde_.

You need to calm down, keep your nerves restrained. How long will you actually endure this messy situation before finally breaking down? As time goes on your love for this man considerably grows whenever you speak with him or fight by his side.

“Sorry, I just don’t like this place at all. The people, the luxury, even the music. It’s not for me.”

“But you wanted the cakes.”

You delicately slap his upper arm in a playful way. “Just drop it!”

With a satisfied smirk and a very soft nudge against your shoulder, Arno silently walks away and places both of your glasses on a scattered table across the room. The royal clothes he’s wearing surely accentuate his fine waist and wide torso, his long ponytail looks like silk in the candlelight and you’d love to tuck your fingers in those strands to feel their softness on your sensitive skin.

It is maddening, really… having the love of your life so close yet so far from your world. You get impatient if you can’t see him for days or weeks, but completely lose your self control and ability to properly speak when the two of you are together and so intimately close.

You can see your image reflected into his eyes when Arno returns, knitted brows and lips pressed together in a thin line. “Something on your mind?”

His question comes out of the blue, taking you by surprise and increasing the already powerful pulsing in your blood.

“Why do you ask? I'm fine,” you answer.

Your lie probably didn't sound as convincing as you hoped. He seems to inspect your face, seeking for any sign of weakness to knock down your wall and force you to speak out with him and reveal what is troubling you. If he noticed your restlessness, then the mask you keep wearing in his presence is permanently cracked and at this point you will hardly be able to repair it. You’ve been perfectly calm and attentive for so long, nevertheless tonight’s contract is seriously putting your patience to the test and even a child would probably notice how anxious and grieved you currently look.

But, seeing how persistent and warm your smile is, Arno eventually shakes it off and offers you his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

It takes you a moment to process his words. “What?”

You can feel his hot breath as he chuckles, brushing his rough palm against yours and dragging your other hand over his right shoulder.

“Do you plan to stand here for the rest of the night?”

“I can’t dance.”

“I will guide you.”

You were only supposed to kill a Templar and head back to the hideout smoothly and victorious. Why are you literally pressed against Arno’s body with his lingering touch over your hip and your hand in his firm grip now? You certainly don’t dislike the delicious contact nor the way he moves back and forth with you in his arms, but surely this is not what you were planning all along.

He didn’t lie. He’s guiding your smaller figure with very slow steps, occasionally twirling you around to the rhythm of a music you can barely hear. You eventually manage to relax in his embrace, the soothing movement of your waltz sweeping away every concern and releasing the tension in your face.

But then, as quick as it started, this wonderful fairytale abruptly comes to an end when Arno’s attention shifts somewhere else and his expression hardens in a way you know all too well.

“ _Élise_ ,” he mutters, carefully slipping away from your grasp.

“Arno?”

The apologetic look he gives you is more than enough to shutter your regained calm into pieces.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”

A part of you already knows, yet you dare to turn around and check the direction your partner in crime is hurriedly following. And right when you spot that familiar red hair, those unmistakable blue eyes and pink lips in the shadows, all you want to do is hide in your corner of shame and scream your lungs out.

Your heart explodes in tiny little ashes when your rival takes Arno's hand and furtively drags him away from your eyesight, while you are once again left alone and forgotten in the middle of the ballroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle: Excuse me, Miss  
> Oui: Yes  
> Monsieur: Mister/Sir  
> Ma chèrie: My dear/my darling  
> Mon amour: My love  
> Mon amie: My friend (female)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm so sorry. I wish I could update my stories and post new stuff every week, but... life. Always life.
> 
> Hope you like this one.

“Élise,” his lover’s name escapes Arno’s lips a second time, as the woman drags him away from prying eyes and into a dark corner. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering the same thing about you.”

The Templar woman is not pleased and the lack of enthusiasm she’s showing after a whole month without seeing each other is almost heartbreaking for the Assassin.

“One of my subordinates is deserting. Whatever he’s plotting right now just goes against everything my father has built, I can’t let him do this.”

Putting aside his temporary grief, “A certain _Albert Beaulieu_ , perhaps?”

“How do you know him?”

“Seems like we are after the same man.”

He cannot tell if this is going to be a fortuitous coincidence or the harbinger of something incredibly dangerous.

“Be careful, Arno. He’s not here unprepared.”

The visible worry in her voice is more than enough to fill his chest with discomfort.

Élise continues. “There are at least five guards on every floor, I’m quite sure Albert is well aware of your presence here by now.”

Arno can sense it, the stinging sensation of mild panic forming into his stomach.

“Are you completely sure?”

She nods her head. “I clearly underestimated him.”

Arno immediately diverts his glance from the woman without a second thought, desperately searching for the familiar face of his partner in the crowded lounge full of unwieldy gowns and floating tailcoats.  
Guilt washes over him when he finally spots your disappointed expression, lower lip nervously bitten and hands absently smoothing a fold in your dress.  
He knows all too well how uncomfortable and out of place he made you feel tonight, from the high class pompous guests to the hungry prick who took advantage of your loneliness to harass you with a shameful, insistent courtship during his absence. Although you are perfectly capable of defending yourself in any kind of circumstance (you are an Assassin by name and by nature after all), Arno somehow feels incredibly protective and on the defensive line whenever a man dares to approach you out of nowhere.

He perfectly noticed your unusual distress today, however, and he intends to find out what’s afflicting your pretty little head as soon as this annoying mission is done and forgotten.

“You have a plan, I suppose.” Élise steps closer, placing her pale fingers over his clothed shoulder.

“Not that it matters. If what you said is true there is no chance for us to make it work.”

The redhead sighs deeply to clearly contain her exasperation. “Just go, I’ll take care of him.”

This time, Arno shares a stern expression with his woman without flinching. “Why do I have a feeling you’re trying to push me away again?”

One hand resting against his warm chest, “This is my father’s Order, Arno. My duty, my business. You don’t know Albert as much as I do.”

Arno’s gloved fingers gently grab her wrist and hold it there. “Tell me what I need to know.”

“There is no time.”

“Élise,” with a quick movement he brushes his other palm over her soft cheek, caressing it with short and tender strokes and a smile that could melt all the nearby candles. “The Assassins can help you. Please, let us do what we came for.”

“And do you expect to take down your target by staying pressed to one another like that?”

“Wait, is that jealousy what I hear from you?”

She remains silent for a moment.

“Do I have any reason to be jealous of her?”

“She’s only a good friend, there is nothing to worry about.”

In the past few months you and Arno have gotten pretty close and whoever sees you together at the Café Théâtre mistakes the two of you for a real couple. That never bothered him though, you both brushing it off with a laugh and even making jokes about a nonexistent relationship to then resume your duties or normal conversations as if nothing happened at all.

“If this is how you treat all your ‘good friends’ then we have a problem, Arno.”

Another chuckle vibrates into his chest and he closes the remaining distance between their bodies, covering her lips in a heated kiss and wrapping her smaller frame in a solid embrace.

 

 

You nervously tap your foot on the floor keeping your eyes glued to the familiar man who just appeared from the main stairway, his distinct clothes and wrinkled face looking exactly like the description you and Arno received. If you weren’t sure about his identity when he stepped into the ballroom, the moment a noble called his name in a polite greeting you instantly brushed your hands over the sides of your gown, sharp and threatening knives hidden underneath and another blade secured around your leg with a tight strap.

There only is a small, _insignificant_ problem now; where the bloody hell is your partner in crime?

Although you understand how thrilling it could be to see your loved one again after such a long time, you definitely can’t accept his carelessness in regard to the active mission. Your target is here, finally exposed taking a quick look around to study his surroundings, yet Arno is secluded into a corner with his woman right when you are supposed to take action, together.

You mentally curse when the Templar’s eyes meet your own, settling over you with keen interest instead of continuing with their random exploration. Those green orbs study every inch of you as a disgusting smirk pulls the corners of the man’s lips upwards, the anger boiling in your veins and getting even worse when your target walks away from his spot to join you with arms crossed nonchalantly behind his back and a brisk stride.

 _Wonderful_.

“ _Bonsoir Mademoiselle_ (good evening, Miss),” he greets you kindly, stopping next to you without looking directly at your face.

“ _Bonsoir Monsieur_ (good evening, Sir),” you answer, hands clasped in front of you.

“You have to forgive me if this will sound inappropriate, but may I ask if you came here alone tonight?”

Lord have mercy, these noble men surely are hungry for your petticoats and what’s underneath.

“My husband is here too, _Monsieur_.” The original plan didn’t really include a seduction technique to get the Templar’s attention, but considering Arno is currently nowhere to be seen you have to develop your own plot in order to keep the target within range. “Although that filthy bastard seems to be more interested in other _dames_ (ladies) than his wife. ”

Funny how you don’t even need to pretend in this case.

“Is that so? Such a beautiful woman shouldn’t really be here all by herself, Milady. Your husband clearly isn’t aware of how lucky he is.”

Good manners or not he will die here and now.

“Oh, I’m flattered _monseigneur_ (my lord). _Merci_ (thank you).”

“I’d really appreciate if you could allow me to offer you something to drink, the wine served is particularly good. My favorite in fact.”

You try not to hesitate when he offers you his gloved hand. “Yes, please, I’d love to.”

“Excellent!”

His grip is strong, yet gentle around your palm. Letting him guide you to a round table you quickly turn to check the situation and your heart sinks when, once again, you don’t even spot Arno in the room.

‘Calm down’, you say to yourself. ‘You can do this without him, you don’t need his help.’

The moment Mr. Dorian will decide to finally stop making out with his girlfriend you will already be on your way back to the Café. You don’t really care if he finds himself left behind without a transport anymore, that serves him right for abandoning you without a hint of regret.

You smile kindly when your target offers you another glass of wine, forcing yourself to drink once more although your stomach can barely handle it right now. A few exchanges of words full of persuasion and compliments on your part manage to reduce the man, now pressed against your body, to a vulnerable prey in your hands, fingers brushing over his rough cheeks and along his chest with unspoken promises.  
While your mischievous grin stays printed on your lips as you continue further, the disgust you feel when he kisses your neck is authentic and it doesn’t take long before he invites you to his quarters and walks away from the ballroom with his arm thrown around your shoulders.

You simply follow the man, pretending to be just a little bit tipsy for the wine and eager to bring things on a higher level. Whether Arno is there or not doesn’t concern you anymore, determined you are to finish this alone being as quick as possible and without leaving any trace.

Only a few more steps and you’ll be completely alone in the Templar’s company, your hidden blade already unsheathed, but still half hidden under your long sleeve. A flight of stairs, different corridors, two more doors and finally you reach an empty library as only your footsteps can be heard in the silence around. No couples hiding for private encounters, no servants disappearing in different directions holding trays or cleaning cloths, no random nobles slumped on couches or on the balconies enjoying their drink and watching the night sky.

One quick flick of your wrist and the blade will pierce his back, your other hand will raise in the air and meet the Templar’s throat with the final, deadly strike.

Precise, fast, lethal; that’s how you’re known into the Brotherhood by now.

But, if usually your actions are well studied and you hardly fail the assigned objectives, this time you feel completely unprepared when a dozen guards appears on each side pointing a sword on you.

“And look what we have here,” Albert hums with a satisfied grin, taking some steps back to admire your frozen figure in its entirety. “Looks like the predator became the prey now, isn’t it?”

_‘I didn’t even notice them coming!’_

“Did you really think you could deceive me with your pretty dress and flutter of eyelashes, Assassin? You have no idea of how resourceful I can be.”

If only Arno were there for you in the first place you now would have the chance to distract the guards and create a diversion. Being alone in the lion’s den you can just pray for your own safety, counting only on the limited arsenal under your clothes and knowing that the wide gown you’re wearing will certainly reduce your freedom of movement.

Facing ten well armed guards is not exactly playing in your favor, especially considering this isn’t exactly what you and Arno were expecting from the beginning.

In other words, you’re screwed.

“What am I supposed to do with you, _ma petite colombe_ (my little dove)?”

 

 

Back from his little chat with Élise and fully aware of Albert’s intentions, Arno is quite upset not seeing you in the ballroom waiting for him. He needs to talk to you, set up a new plan to get rid of your target without any further bloodshed, yet he can’t find you anywhere and he’s not feeling cool about it.

The bad feeling in his guts is so annoying that he literally rushes out of the lounge and into different rooms, where only drunk nobles scattered here and there and servants at work can be seeing in the dark.

Arno is definitely worried now. You are missing, gone who knows where and he doesn’t like it one bit.

You unconsciously raise your hands when a cold blade is pressed against your neck from behind.

Albert is pleased, visibly satisfied for catching you so easily. “Looks like the Assassins still have a lot of things to learn, uh?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you retort, holding his stare without any sign of backdown. “Did you even wonder where my partner is? Don’t think you know everything about us, you might be disappointed.”

The Templar’s laugher resounds in the whole library. “Oh, you’ve got claws. I like it!”

“This isn’t over, _Beaulieu_. We will definitely get what we came here for.”

“I beg to differ, my dear. See, I could snap my fingers now and you wouldn’t even have the time to scream.”

You nod your head, the metal of the weapon scratching your skin at the slight movement. “Maybe. But there’s something you apparently didn’t consider.”

He eyes you up and down unceremoniously scratching his chin, no sign of fear nor insecurity. “Which is?”

This could work flawlessly or end up with your corpse on the library’s floor, in each case you’ve being trained to show no mercy and fight with every fiber of your being whether you will come out victorious or inevitably dead.

It’s not like you have much choice anyway, so you answer. “This _pretty dress_ of mine is not a simple decoration.”

Your hand grabs the smoke bomb hidden under your skirt’s flaps and throws it on the floor in front of you, Albert barely keeping his eyes open for the burning mist surrounding him as all the guards start coughing and wiggling their swords in the air. With your blades popping out from the sleeves you hit the guard behind you with a decisive blow right into his chest, the Templar manages to run away from the black smoke and out of the library and before you could even attempt to jump in pursuit a long sword appears in your field of view making you stumble. Just like you predicted, your gown is decent enough to make you walk without any troubles, but it sure as hell isn’t the perfect attire for a heated combat. With all the knives in your possession you successfully take a few more guards down, loud groans filling your ears and blood splattering from their fresh wounds. However, as soon as the smoke begins to fade three more soldiers approach you from the nearest corridor with drawn weapons, keeping you even more occupied while your target has all the time to hide or even send more security guards into the library.

You keep going without slowing down nonetheless, twirling and dodging every attack like the long year of training you’ve been through taught you in excruciating efforts. A heavy skirt certainly isn’t enough to stop your fight and you keep slicing throats, punching, kicking and breaking bones until just one guy is left, panting and bleeding against the wooden bookcase sending a terrified glance your way.

Poor thing, no chance he’s going to finish you like this.

You can almost smell the scent of victory in the air, were it not for the sudden blow in the back of your head. Your eyesight darkens for a short moment as you hardly fall on your back and distinguish a tall, mighty figure through your blurry vision holding a marble statue in their right hand with your blood dripping from its surface.

The guard loosens his grip around the item, which falls on the floor with a loud thud. Then, unsheathing the sword securely held over his hip, the man grins down at you with his yellowish teeth and glowing eyes.  
The pain in your head is so intense that you can’t even get back on your feet, sword lifted above you and ready to end your suffering.

You can feel it, the sharp blade piercing your corset and cutting your thin skin, a burning sensation spreading on your abdomen while the blood flows in streams. With all your remaining strength you put your hands around the blade the moment it cuts you, drawing even more blood from your now injured palms. The sword is pushing its way inside your guts, but you don’t let it descend any further keeping the weapon firmly between your hands.

And then the unexpected happens.

A loud cry of pain followed by a deafening gunshot, a distant voice talking to you as a quick hand removes the weapon from your trembling body. Blinking and gasping for breath you can still see a few shapes and colors, like a pair of blue eyes and a cascade of beautiful red hair coming into view.

“Good job.” Two cold fingers pressing over your pulsing neck.

“…Élise…?”

Your voice sounds like it doesn’t belong to you anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I made you wait for ages. Life got seriously crazy and a lot of bad things happened, I can't even say it's over because... well, it is not. I'll try to post the next chapter sooner, but I can't make any promises. Whenever I plan something life literally blocks me placing tons of obstacles in front of me.
> 
> Anyways, ready for some upcoming angst? I promise you this story will get a happy ending (as soon as I manage to finally finish it after... oh my, more than two years since I started it before the official game release?), but expect some darkness and harsh moments for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any typo or weird writing here and there. I tried to correct every mistake I found, but I got no beta and I'm not even a native English speaker.

Arno walks along the fancy corridors with a racing heart and a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, the gunshot that exploded in the air and filled his ears was enough to make him panic and fear for the worst.

He barely touches the high steps along the flight of stairs, rushing to the upper floor and cursing himself for his foolish behavior. He abandoned his partner in the middle of a mission, preoccupied to finally speak with the love of his life again instead of showing you the respect you truly deserved.

_‘If something happened to her, I swear-‘_  


The moment he finally reaches the main library after so many steps he literally lost count, his whole body freezes on the threshold at the sight of your figure on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. Élise is bent over you with her gun still secured into her right hand, the other one brushing a few strands of hair out of your face in a gentle way.

And the sense of nausea grows into his chest as soon as he realizes the gravity of your current conditions.

“No,” he whispers, slowly walking into the silent room full of dead guards. “No no no no no no!”

Something snaps into Arno’s head, giving him the needed strength to frantically run towards you and kneel by your side in utter shock.

“She’s still alive,” Élise reassures. “You need to take her back, Arno. Now.”

Your eyes flutter open for a brief moment, focusing on Arno who’s touching your pale cheek with his warm hand and staring down at you with a heartbroken expression. You feel like crying and screaming and hitting him hard… but all you can do is groaning for the horrible pain in your nape and the burning sensation in your bleeding abdomen and cut palms.

Even taking a simple breath has become an impossible task for you.

“Arno, you must go!” Élise stands and slowly draws back from her spot next to your body. “She needs your help.”

“Élise… what about you?”

The redhead takes a rapid glance at the scattered corpses all around. “Albert managed to escape. I’ll finish what the Assassins started.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

Élise may not consider you particularly important, but Arno knows the woman he fell in love with is compassionate and can easily see for herself what is wrong and what is right.  

Plus, the same amount of guilt twisting Arno’s insides is also there in her eyes, brows knitted together and a sadness he can barely decipher.

There’s no time left for you and the man knows it. If he doesn’t bring you back to the Café as soon as possible you probaly won’t come out of this mission alive. As much as he hates the thought of living Élise and let her take care of your target on her own, he already abandoned you once and does not intend to make the same mistake twice. 

Your life is hanging by a thread and fully depends on his actions now. 

“Be careful,” he says then, a soft smile pulling the corners of his lips as he hooks an arm under your limp knees and carefully slips his fingers behind your neck.

“Good luck,” she answers, glancing down at you one last time before turning on her heels and running off.

You mentally scream for the killing ache that spreads along your face when Arno lifts you up (that large dress you’re wearing certainly makes everything harder), head falling on his shoulder and clothes instantly absorbing your dripping blood. He holds you tightly against his chest and carefully hops on his way back, searching for an alternative path that may lead him outside without appearing in the ballroom spilling crimson drops all over the floor. 

Arno is terrified, afraid of losing you right here and now for his lack of professionalism. Feeling responsible for what happened to François de la Serre has already been extremely painful and difficult enough to digest, no chance he’ll be able to forgive himself this time if you won’t make it, all because he let his heart decide and put everything else on the back burner.

So much for someone who was seeking redemption.

“You’re safe now,” he comforts you, grip tightening around your shoulders and lips brushing on your forehead as you cry out in pain. “I’ll fix this! Stay with me please, don’t leave me just yet!”  


Your eyelids are getting heavier each passing second and you can barely hear his voice calling your name over and over again in a desperate attempt to keep you awake. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Don’t die on me now!”

If this is how death tastes like you are certain about one thing: you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else if not in his arms with this delicious body heat enveloping you. So many things you’d like to tell him, so many unspoken words on the tip of your tongue.

_‘I guess it’s too late now, isn’t it?’_

Everything goes dark and your thoughts dissolve. Whatever you were about to say dies on your parted lips as your fingers loosen their grip around his collar.

  


  


  


Arno is an unstoppable caged lion, pacing back and forth and occasionally staring at the closed door separating you from his reach.   


You were still alive when Arno brought you back to the Café, Axe shouting at the horses and desperately shaking the reins to gain more speed. You are all lucky the carriage didn’t crash against a wall nor flipped upside down along the road.

Arno didn’t even bother to report the disastrous outcome of your mission to the Council, how could he when the doctor and his nurse took you away from his grasp and never showed up from behind that damn door ever since?

“Relax, _mon frère_ (brother) _._  At this rate you’ll make a hole under your feet.”

Arno abruptly stops and glares at the bearded man, feeling a big amount of resentment towards himself.  

“She’s been in there for hours now and we don’t even know if she’s out of danger!”  


Axe takes a deep breath lowering his hood, hand absently stroking his dark brown messy hair. “Trust me, Arno. I’m as worried as you are.”

The strong affection the Assassin has for you is not really a secret, whether or not you’re aware, though, Arno cannot tell. 

“Pacing around like that won’t do you any good. And to be fair, you’re making me quite nervous.”  


As much as he would love to ignore his ranting, Arno truly envies the calm and composure Axe can maintain in every critical situation such as the one they’re currently facing. The Assassin is known for his cold blood and random jokes made to break the ice in the worst moments, he always knows what to say or what to do even if that means he needs to improvise, pick a wrong choice or simply say something he may regret afterwards.

Today, however, knowing you are lying in that bed all bloodied and with one foot already in the grave, none of them would dare to fill this nerve-wracking waiting with a meaningless sentence, sarcasm is not an option when they don’t even know if your smile will bright their days again.

“Arno, tell me the truth. What the hell happened in there while I was outside?”  


Arno’s blood suddenly runs cold. How is he supposed to justify his actions in front of his best friend?

“We were not prepared. Albert Beaulieu was expecting us, he knew... placed several guards on every floor and spied our movements.”  


The way Axe inhales at that explanation does not bode well. “So they had a numerical advantage on their part, I get it. Nevertheless, that does not explain why she came out of it like a wreck while you don’t have a single scratch.”

Axe is smart and very well trained, he has more years of experience behind and certainly will not fall for Arno’s lies that easily. Any attempt to escape is futile, one way or another he will uncover the truth with his inquisitive attitude and clever considerations.

With a long, deep sigh, Arno answers with the only thing he can offer; the reality of things. 

“ Élise was there.”  


It took him a moment to register what happened after; an excruciating pain spreading on his face as he finds himself on the wooden floor. He could barely see Axe standing from the chair he was occupying and notice his hand forming a fist which crashed right against his now throbbing cheekbone. 

In all honesty what can he say to defend himself from a more than deserved punishment? This ache is nothing compared to what you’re going through, if Arno could switch places he would gladly offer to take at least half of the pain you’re dealing with in that bed to make amends.

No word is spoken in the silent waiting room, only the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant sound of glasses and cups from the Café breaking the quietness born between the two. 

Arno stands holding his right cheek with one hand, brushing the creased jacket with the other.

“You’ll never learn Arno, will you?”  


His voice is devoid of any anger, but clearly bitter and full of sadness.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Arno retorts. “I made a mistake, she got injured because of my irresponsible actions. I’m _hating_ myself for what happened to her!”  


“I know.” A pat on his shoulder lets him know that Axe holds no grudge against his friend. “But I wonder how can you be so blind.”

“Blind?”  


“You really don’t see it?”  


What is there to be seen except the tragic result of his lack of judgment?

The man continues. “I can’t believe you really didn’t realize that she-”  


His words are cut off by the door opening, revealing an exhausting doctor and an equally tired nurse holding a pile of blood-soaked towels.

Arno’s heart is pounding hard, hammering into its cage for the increasing fear as he tries to make out what their expressions are hiding. 

When nothing comes from their lips, foreheads beaded with small droplets of sweat, Arno steps forward and gathers the courage to ask the fateful question.

“How is she?”  


The pause between his inquiry and the doctor’s reply is agonizing, to the point Arno has to hold himself against the nearest surface to support his weakened legs. 

And then, finally, the man speaks. “She is stable, the injuries have been disinfected, properly cleaned and treated. She lost a good bunch of blood, but you have brought her back just in time.”  


Arno is about to throw himself against your savior, putting his arms around him with relief and immense gratitude.

“However, I need to warn you that she’s not yet completely out of danger.”  


And then, just as it came, the regained peace shatters and is replaced by a new horrible wave of dread.

“The cut in her abdomen was deep, but not enough to damage the internal organs. Sadly I cannot say how serious the injury on her head actually is.”  


The woman standing next to the man of medicine intervenes for the first time since she arrived. “We cannot tell what kind of issues the blow may have caused.”

Even Axe does his best to maintain his nerve this time. “What does that mean, doctor?”

“It means we did all we could, gentlemen. If she opens her eyes in the morning we can quite safely say she overcame the worst.”  


“And if she doesn’t?”

“In that case, I’m afraid she will fall into a coma followed by a certain death in the next 24 hours or so. I apologize, Sirs. I wish I could bring you better news.”  


The pain squeezing Arno’s heart as the two walk away is almost blinding and he can only place his darkened eyes over the door. You are so close to him and yet so far, lost into a deep sleep which may last forever.

You may slip away from his grasp in the next few hours, another life taken for his reckless decisions and disregard. 

"Stay with her,” he says then, voice broken and stomach twisted in a tight not.  


Axe is visibly pale, emotionally torn for the unwanted revelation.  “Arno...?”  


“You heard the doctor. I want you to be there in case she wakes up tomorrow.”  


Or conversely, Arno doesn’t want you to be alone in your very last moments.

“Why are you even asking me? I’m pretty sure she’d want to see _you_ first.”

“Because I can’t dare to look at her after what I’ve done.”  


Arno wants to remember you with the beautiful smile and lively complexion you had before this whole dammed mission started. Lying on that bed, lifeless... he wouldn’t be able to bare such a terrible view If you have to die tonight. Definitely not what he would like to add to his already awful recollections.

“I need to report this to the Council. If you need me, you’ll find me at the Café.”

He failed and there’s nothing he can do nor say to repair what he destroyed with his own hands. He can only pray for your safety and hope the strength you’ve always shown until now is more than enough to wake you up and leave this nightmare behind. 

A part of him is thinking he never found out what was bothering you last night, before he decided to leave you there, alone in the ballroom, like a meaningless associate.

Deep down, he probably knows the answer already.

  


  


  


  


The first thing you feel as reality finally comes back is the intense pain in the back of your head followed by a stinging sensation in your abdomen and palms. It takes you a while to realize you’re lying in your own bed, tightly bandaged and quite feverish under the warm sheets. Your memories from the previous night are still confusing and you can barely put the pieces together, fragments of remembrances wandering in your head as you suffocate a groan of pain.

Then you hear it, the familiar rustle of clothing a few steps away from your bed. With your sight still blurred and the soft candle burning on the bedside table it is quite hard to focus the person who’s now smiling at you with immense relief, the shape of the well known Assassin robes the only image you can properly see in your state of drowsiness at the crack of dawn.

But, as soon as the man speaks and gently takes your hand in his gloved one, you manage to smile back and slightly squeeze his fingers covered in leather.

“Welcome back, Princess.”  


You can feel the disappointment forming in your throat when you recognize his voice. It is clear to you that the person you actually wanted to see next to you is not even present in the room.  


“You scared us to death, you know?”  


Axe is genuinely happy to see you awake, how can you be so cruel and want another man instead?

You instantly relax when he kisses your knuckles, regret filling your eyes with tears that you carefully hold back.

“Hello, _Jean-Jacques_.”

His lips curl into a smile against your skin. “I never heard you say my real name.”

“I hope you don’t mind.”  


“I absolutely don’t.”  


You know quite well that his feelings for you go beyond the simple friendship and yet the man gave up before even starting because you couldn’t forget about your love for Arno. Any other man would take advantage of the latter being already taken to shamelessly court you, but he proved to be a real gentleman in different occasions. It matters little to him that your decisions are inexorably wrong, the last thing he wants is trample on your wishes and force you to like him when your heart desires someone else.  
  
You actually wonder why you didn’t fall in love with him instead. It would be so much easier, no pain and no jealousy, you would finally find the happiness you currently seek with a person you’ll never have.  


Jean-Jacques has all the qualities you’ve always wanted in a partner; he is loyal, selfless, respectful... he treats you like a Lady even in the most mundane occasions. How can you be so stubborn then, tragically obsessed with a man who didn’t hesitate to run to his lover without checking on you once?

Yes, you start to remember now. Every instant, every suffocated tear, every crack forming in your heart whenever you tried to keep your eyes away, in vain.

You remember Élise appearing from a corner, Arno abandoning you in that room to share a few precious moments with the love of his life.

And then Beaulieu approaching you, flirting with you, trapping you, attacking you. The fight. The blow on your head. The sword piercing your corset and cutting your skin. 

Élise bent over you, calling you, trying to keep you in this world.  


Arno taking you away from the library, begging you to stay alive, apologizing over and over and over again. His voice breaking.

“I need to inform the doctor now. Please try to take some more rest, Princess, you’re burning up. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

You stare at his broad shoulders as he walks to the door and silently opens it, the birds singing their morning song outside and the clink of spoons and plates coming from the Café. It’s such a simple, normal day like any other it seems, but you no longer are the same person who left the headquarters a few hours earlier.

Something changed, something _died_.     


Just like when you were about to fall into the darkness, the feelings are too strong to be kept inside. There are so many things you’d like to say, words lingering on your tongue but not quite ready to come out. 

There’s only one question you manage to ask:

“Where’s Arno?”  


Jean-Jacques chuckles to himself and takes his leave, speaking from behind the door ajar. “Probably getting drunk until he can’t handle it anymore. I’m pretty sure he would love to see you right now.”

The silence enveloping you right after is louder than any words, heart racing like a runaway horse and a bunch of confusing thoughts fighting in your head.

A soft smile spreads over your dry lips without control.  _“You idiot.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Jacques is the name tumblr generated for Axeman, it seems. I literally found out just recently, browsing through a bunch of Axeman posts for reference. I actually like how it sounds.


End file.
